


Bookmarked

by Thumbie



Series: The Brunch Bunch [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Single Parent, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 03:33:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7250299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thumbie/pseuds/Thumbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a group of well-meaning busybodies conspire to get the brooding bookshop owner together with the adorably shy single dad who's just moved to Brooklyn’s Wizarding Quarter. It's not meddling if they've got good intentions, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bookmarked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [csichick_2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/csichick_2/gifts).



> Thank you so much to my betas @exodeerboy and @stardustandangels for putting up with my endless tears and whining, and an even BIGGER thank you to all my folks in Triggerland, you guys kept me (more or less) on the straight and narrow.

.

.

…

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

The movers had been in and out of Nat’s building all day.

Actual movers. With a big van and everything,

It wasn’t such a strange sight to see on this side of the Wizarding Quarter, where the line between magical and non-magical Brooklyn blurred within the many streets and pathways, but it was still novel enough to have a few passers-by pause on the sidewalk. The fact that there were boxes and furniture physically being carted from the van instead of just being Levitated over was interesting. Muggle movers then.

Relaxing in the shade outside his store, Bucky idly wondered what the new neighbor was like. It was a slow day at the shop, though excitement wasn’t exactly _de rigueur_ at a little bookstore sandwiched between a café and a Twilfitt and Tattings, and his therapist was always going on about taking time to be consciously aware of his surroundings. It wasn’t like he was _spying_ or anything.

Whoever it was had a lot of boxes for just one person. Maybe it was a family, though he only saw the one trundle bed being brought up the stairs. The apartments were fully furnished, Nat saw to that, and though Bucky didn’t live in her building for the sake of his sanity, he’d visited enough times to know. There were a lot of lamps being brought in though, all gangly shiny chrome with light bulbs the size of his face.

“Mr. Bucky, hi! Good afternoon!”

Pulling his eyes away from one strange contraption that looked eerily like a giant spider, Bucky saw one of his favorite regulars dashing up to the cluster of iron-wrought tables that were always a little cold even under the summer sun. Sam, who owned the lion's share of the cafe, had gone a little overboard with the Cooling Charms on the parasols. Sam Wilson had very particular ideas of what a café should be like, and mostly they were the sort of ideas that had made the _Well Ground Café_ one of the best places to have a decently-priced coffee, but Bucky privately thought that getting his backside frosted every time he wanted to sit outside was a bit much.

The kids who came by loved the oddity of it, Lars most of all. Lars Wright was nine years old, a huge fan of Rolf Scamander and his graphic novels, and was now beaming up at Bucky, school tie askew and showing a new gap in his teeth. “Hey there, Lars. Where’s the fire, huh?  I see you got the tooth out. Did it hurt?”

“Not at all, Mr. Bucky!” The boy was barely panting, which was a feat considering his older sister was bringing up the rear with a face like thunder, weighed down with both their bags. “Mr. Bucky, I heard you got the new _Tales of the Midnight Manticore_ in already. Is that true, do you really have ‘em?”

“Yeah, of course I do. Rolf and I, we’re buddies. I get the new editions before anybody else does.” Bucky bit back a chuckle. Lars looked so excited he was near vibrating with it. “Alright, alright, into the store with you. You know where I keep the new stock.”

As Lars’ happy squeal faded in the air, Larissa finally shrugged off the bags and gave him a tired smile. She was just fifteen and already the weight of the world was on her shoulders. Bucky knew that look, had seen it in the mirror more than a few times when his Ma had been pulling double shifts and Becca had been just about Lars’ age. School nowadays didn’t help. Bucky had taken a look at her Physics homework once. Suffice it to say he had been zero help and Clint had been the unexpected savior of the day.

“Sorry about Lars, Mr. Barnes. First day of school, he met all his friends today and he’s hyper because there’s new kids from out of town in his class.”

“Is it the start of the school year again? I was wondering why no one was around earlier. Saved me the bother of explaining-” Here, Bucky grinned and raised his voice so it would carry loud and clear into the bookshop. “-the inevitable takeover of Professor von Snarlsgard and the Devilfish!”

“Marwen Mitchells saves the world every day, and twice on Tuesdays!” echoed Lars’ indignant reply. “Those Devilfish are gonna get deep-fried!”

Even Larissa laughed. A corner of Bucky’s mouth curled up; these kids deserved all the laughs they could get.

Aedan, one of the brownie-kin on duty today, popped into existence by her chair. He was two feet tall with a shock of red hair meticulously slicked back and his brown-and-white uniform pressed to a razor’s edge. In his plain jeans and shirt, Bucky always felt like a bit of a slob next to the brownies. He’d forever be grateful that he didn’t have to deal with the bulk of them since the bookstore only took up a little bit of the building and as such, only merited the undivided attention of two of the Kin.

“Miss Larissa,” Aedan greeted with a low bow. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“A lemon square and a vanilla shake, I think.” Bucky said, noting the hesitant look in the girl’s eyes. “On the house, least I can do for my favorite customers.”

“Thanks, Mr. Barnes.” She blushed. “I’ll have it inside though, if that’s okay? I’ve got homework to finish before dinner.”

“Very well, Miss Larissa. Master Barnes, anything for you?”

Bucky shook his head politely and watched his young friend disappear into the café with her book bag. If she had Physics again this year, he’d have to have Sam open up a tab for Clint.

Silence curled around him once more. The movers across the street had already packed up and left, so there was no entertainment to be had there. There was a quiet lull in the afternoon air, carrying on the enchanted feeling of this morning’s weather.

It had been the sort that his Ma used to call ‘fae marrying-weather’, when even the elements seemed to be in equal measure. The sky had been robin’s egg blue, dotted with fleecy dark grey clouds and striped with sunshine. There had been a little rain, a sort of barely-there mist that had made rainbows appear everywhere. Now, the cobblestones and red brick of the Wizarding Quarter were dry as a bone, but he felt like he could see the memory of those pastel colors if he squinted hard enough.

Fae marrying-weather indeed. It was the sort of day when the magic was nearly crystallizing out of the air, the sort of day that Muggles would say was ‘lucky’.

The sort of day that made Bucky wish he wasn’t a Squib.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

In 2013, after eleven years of service, decorated former Auror Bucky Barnes had been shipped back home to Brooklyn with a messed-up arm and a brain full of static.

He’d returned on his own two feet; his squadmates Juniper, Dooley, Morita and Falsworth hadn’t been so lucky. Bucky was one of the ‘fortunate ones’, although he certainly didn’t feel like it, but then again no one asked him what he thought. One day he was fighting extremists and desert dragons on a Turkish mountainside, and the next, as if via cruel Portkey, he was standing in an unfurnished apartment in the middle of the city, holding his walking papers in one hand and a dusty beat-up duffel in the other.

He’d grown up by the Wizarding Quarter, played Quidditch in Prospect Park, went to boarding school in Salem and had a summer job in Coney Island. Now everything felt crowded, full of unfamiliar lights and shadows, ebbing and flowing with a susurrus that scraped at Bucky’s nerves. He felt the lack of foreign magic in the air, smelled smog and rain and hotdogs instead of caraway and hot sand, absently listened for the _pop_ and _crackle_ that never came over the radio. It felt like he was the ghost of a younger Bucky Barnes, someone who had walked these streets, these alleys and secret pathways- just another reminder that he was now in a world that he used to know like the back of his hand, a world that he was barred from entering because something in him was damaged and out-of-sync.

The loss of his left arm, which had been replaced on the field with a perfectly workable silvery prosthetic, wasn’t the issue. It moved like a real arm, was dexterous enough to thread a needle and strong enough to crush rock, and it even mirrored the muscle definition on its flesh counterpart. He could feel heat and cold and pressure, though the sensations were considerably dulled. He didn’t mind the intricate scarring left behind or the numbness across his collarbone or the frequent phantom pains.

All of that was nothing compared to the loss of his magic.

 _A completely understandable carryover from the_ _incident_ , his therapist had said. _Magical core resetting due to severe trauma, nothing to worry about for now, we have a lot of options, you can take potions for it and for your nightmares as well, Mr. Barnes._

Bucky had been too polite to scoff, both hands cupped over his knees and back ramrod straight all throughout the appointment. Ms. Hill knew her stuff, and her suggestions for coping techniques worked most of the time, but when it came to his magic, Bucky knew she was lying through her teeth. He could _feel_ the aching stillness in his core; his magic had gone dormant.

Learning to live a life without magic had been more distressing than he had anticipated. He’d always been good at wandless incantations: little spells to help keep things tidy, to heat water for tea, to remind him when he’d run out of milk or eggs. Now he had to learn to do things by hand; it was either that, or go down to the nearest shop that stocked Stark products. It wasn’t really a hard and fast rule that _only_ people with non-reactive cores bought Stark’s helpful little innovations, a mix of Muggle and Wizarding engineering powered by Arc stones. There were wizards who used them too, and there was a contraption for every household chore, but Bucky couldn’t bear to buy any yet. It would mean that he’d _given up_ , that he was truly and irreversibly _broken_.

There were times when it seemed like he wasn’t so far removed from magic at all. He lived just around the corner from a Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, for heaven’s sake. Children rode their training brooms in the hallways of his building. He even had the option to connect his fireplace to the Floo Network, but there wouldn’t have been any point in that since his parents were dead and Becca preferred Skype, so he just used his fireplace to store Quidditch magazines and shoes.

Other days hadn’t been so easy. His mind reared against him, a venomous anger lashing out with phrases like ‘ _Just like a Muggle_ ’ and ‘ _No better than a Squib_ ’ striking deep into the heart of him. Becca would have lain into him for that if she knew. She was always the one insisting on the politically correct terms- ‘raised without magic’ instead of Muggleborn, ‘a non-reactive or magically-dormant core’ instead of Squibs or Muggles. As if that made any difference when he was feeling as low as he was, unable to even cast a simple _lumos_ to save himself from stubbing his toe when going to the bathroom at night.

But there was nothing he could do about it except soldier on. _Be kind to yourself, Bucky_ , she always said at the end of their calls, her freckled face smiling out at him from a tiny three-by-four window. _You’re more than just your magic_.

So he got used to cleaning his apartment by hand, scrubbing the bathroom, airing the mattress and the pillows, even soaping the windows once a week. Every Wednesday, he’d go grocery shopping, and when he got to know his elderly neighbors, he went down to the farmer’s market on Saturdays as well. Mondays were reserved for his therapy appointments, Tuesdays and Fridays for the gym across the street. He read the paper every morning and a paperback every night. He ate, not as well as his Ma would have liked, Merlin rest her soul, but at least his stomach wasn’t growling. The nightmares still occurred more often than not- he still woke up covered in sweat, silver arm reaching for phantoms and reflecting the gleam of the streetlights outside the window, but he had his breathing exercises and his notebooks and, when all else failed, a well-used punching bag.

Bucky’s life went on after coming home from war. Even if it had stretched out long and grey and boring, one day the same as the next, he would just have to learn to be fine with that.

He had been _determined_ to be fine with that.

Until Nat and Sam came back into town.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

For the longest time, Bucky regretted ever agreeing to Sam Wilson’s puppy-dog eyes. Yes, the man had been a close friend back when they went to Salem together, just him and Bucky and Natasha Romanov and Clint ‘Jerkface’ Barton. They had all written to him while he was stationed with his Auror team overseas, and their letters were still in a box hidden in his bedroom closet. And yes, they had come home early from their culinary tour of France just because they heard he was back, but he hadn’t asked them to. Their first few days back, they practically moved into his apartment, and even though it had frustrated the hell out of him, they had ended up giving him back that feeling of close-knit camaraderie that he never knew he was missing.

His lack of enthusiasm over enforced bonding time was shameful, now that he thought back on it. They muscled back into his life, as best friends were wont to do, and they carved a space for themselves and for a new circle of friends that were just as bat-shit insane. Natasha knew the strangest people, and she just mushed them all together and threw them at Bucky to find out which ones would stick. It was her way of showing love, to reassure him over and over that he wasn’t alone and that he never would be again.

Clint’s idea of being a friend was just showing up at his apartment with no warning, watching TV shows at full volume with enough pizza to feed an army, making himself at home on Bucky’s couch with his feet on Bucky’s lap and drinking Bucky’s beer. He hadn’t changed a bit since Salem.

And then there was Sam. Good old coffee-elitist Sam, who had dated Nat for a hot second after they graduated, only to realize that they only had two things in common: a deep appreciation for well-toned arms and a penchant for annoying the hell out of Bucky. Sam liked his coffee a certain way, and he’d been certain that other people liked it the same way he did: like actual coffee instead of a paper cup full of coffee-flavored over-sugared trash.

This was how Bucky was introduced to the Maximoff twins, newly moved to the Wizarding Quarter from Sokovia and already knee-deep in schemes with Natasha. Apparently, Nat and Wanda, a young up-and-coming blogger, had both been encouraging Sam and his caffeine agenda. This had somehow led to the acquisition of a prime spot in the Wizarding Quarter, a rundown dusty old place that used to be a restaurant, and Sam’s pressing need for a partner to help renovate and run the place. The problem was that Natasha already had her own business, an Etsy shop or something like that, and Clint was as happy and busy as an organic butcher could be.

Enter the puppy-dog eyes and an unsuspecting Bucky.

He never even had a chance.

Bucky hadn’t let that stop him from bitching and moaning though, but he had helped out where needed, both during the reconstruction and the actual behind-the-scenes work in the café. It meant that while Sam handled the register and flirted with all the customers, Bucky was stuck in back with the brownie staff, who preferred to be called _Kin_ nowadays due to union mandate, making sure the cream was fresh, the boilers were hot and that no one was pranking the paying public.

It had been tough work at first but it had taken Bucky out of his head, and Ms. Hill had noticed the difference. Keeping busy was always good, she’d said. She still brought up his magic, but it became less and less frequent as the months passed. His core remained bleak and dull.

Before he and Sam knew it, the small and cozy _Well-Ground Café_ was already a year old. The money was good, and things were becoming comfortable again. Wanda mentioned them often in her blog, which Bucky had discovered was sort of an online diary which anyone could read, and the café got a reasonable amount of foot traffic due to that. Still, at that point, Bucky had been looking forward to a good lull in the proceedings, perhaps even a chance to get back to his books. He loved reading, and though Wanda’s blog was entertaining and taught him a lot of current information, nothing really beat holding a good old-fashioned paperback in his hands, hearing the soft rustle of pages while the words came to life in his mind.

Bucky spent as much time in Flourish and Blotts as he did in the café. Both the bookshelves in his apartment were crammed full of titles and he had a pile of must-read recommendations on his bedside table that was in serious danger of toppling over. He would have loved some more time alone to read and relax, but he had been as wary of disappearing into the well-worn groove of self-pity as he was now.

Things began to pick up again when billionaire and professional asshole Tony Stark decided that the Well-Ground Café was going to be his personal watering hole. Suddenly they had been overrun with Tony Stark fans, leading to Sam making noise about looking for a bigger place. It didn’t help that Tony owned the big fine arts studio where Wanda and Pietro worked, leading to the three of them showing up after they were done teaching for the day, and it definitely didn’t get any better when Bucky realized that Tony’s wife Pepper was another friend of Nat’s. Before long, their little group had grown to permanently include the Starks, and with Tony’s admirers persistently coming around in droves, they had to bring in two more _Kin_ to balance the magic needed to run the back of the cafe. They were just wondering what the next best step would be when Mrs. Jernigan, who owned the small spice shop next to the café, announced that she was going to retire and move back to Wales.

That took care of the problem of more space, and instead of getting a professional Wizarding contractor this time around, everyone had decided to pitch in. It meant closing the main part of the café for a while, but Nat and Sam agreed it would be worth it. For the second time in two years, Bucky was knee-deep in construction and he was starting to secretly enjoy the whole aspect of physical labor: demolishing walls with Thor the micro-brewer, putting up new shelves with Pepper, going to the paint store for the hundredth time with Bruce, the kindest, most passive bouncer to ever work at a club. He never felt like his lack of magic was a problem. Instead, they all rolled up their sleeves alongside him, and Stark brought along a thing called an industrial hoover to clear up the dust after the day’s work was done.

Still, Sam was nothing if not attentive. One of the best birthday presents Bucky ever received was when Sam unrolled an updated set of blueprints to show a wide raised platform along one wall of the expanded café.

“We could block this side off, get you a nice space for your books and maybe a little more, if you’re up for it. I hear there’s a market for graphic novels now- you know, the ones you used to collect when we were kids,” Sam had said, nudging their shoulders together conspiratorially. “It’d be your own store, you wouldn’t have to help out in the café anymore unless we’re packed. You could even get a rocking chair so you can sit your old self down when you feel your knees creakin’.”

Bucky had rolled his eyes; Sam was only two years younger than him, but he would never let Bucky forget the time he found _one_ premature grey hair.

Bucky’s Ma had raised him right though, and sass or not, he _would have_ thanked Sam, and Nat, and everybody who had helped him get back his life - if Pietro hadn’t overbalanced a levitated paint bucket, causing a chain reaction and sending Pale Cornsilk, Twinkle-tastic Tangelo and Byzantine Bonanza #4 flying everywhere before anyone could get their wands out.

They never bought Qwik-Dry Paint after that.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

There was no point in moping about his damaged core now. Three years and countless therapy appointments later, and Bucky was doing alright. Even better, the _bookstore_ was doing alright, even turning a profit. Yes, he still had issues – plenty of them, if his friends were to be believed, the noxious bunch of whiners – but he was in a much better place now.

Though, right at this moment, anywhere else but _here_ would be a much better place. ‘Here’ referred to the _Well-Ground_ after hours, where all of Bucky’s insane friends gathered en masse once a week to mock him, his clothes, his hair, and his lack of romantic entanglements.

And to eat dinner, but that was almost always secondary to the main course, which was his pride.

Natasha Romanoff was a tiger barely contained in a human woman’s body. Not only was she the owner and landlord of one of the most coveted living spaces in all of Brooklyn, Nat was also a former ballerina, a volunteer Healer at the Quarter’s clinic and shelter, a part of the neighborhood Wizarding Watch, an certified urban beekeeper and a doll maker. Natasha took Franklin’s ‘You can do anything you set your mind to’ and took it to mean she had to be the best in everything she wanted to be. And she was.

Unfortunately for Bucky, she had also decided that it was her job to find him a life partner.

“For the thousandth time, I am perfectly capable of enjoying a meal by myself in my own apartment. I’m a grown man, with a really nice apartment. You should know, Nat, you decorated it. Without asking me.”

“And you’re very welcome for that.” Nat sipped her wine primly, the look on her face as unrepentant as when she had turned his living room carpet white ‘for visual effect’ then finished it off with a second-hand dark purple pleather sofa with _studs_. “Still, it’s meant to be an ‘apartment’, not a refuge while Life happens around you. David’s a great guy, I think you two could hit it off. You’ll like him, he goes to the gym regularly too.”

Clint gave Bucky a smirk over the neck of his beer. “Ah, but will _David_ like Bucky, that’s the question. Does this David like guys with nicknames from the forties? Does he like guys who frown all day and scowl all night? Does this David, bless his gym-going heart, like eating _MREs_?”

“Ha-ha, very funny, jackass-”

“Hang on,” Pietro interrupted. “James still has actual MREs? Official individually packed field rations that they take into war? How does he still - He came home three years ago!”

“Dude, he treats expiry dates like they’re suggestions.” Clint shuddered in his chair. “People sell this stuff over the internet. The hallway cupboard in his apartment is full of them. They’re arranged from light to dark puce.”

Sam, the traitor, leaned over the table and beckoned the two of them closer conspiratorially. “He eats them on special occasions. He’ll do the whole shebang and lay out everything on the coffee table when it’s all heated up, and that’s how he celebrates the solstice. When the Oscars come on, he even brings out the Chocolate Cauldrons.”

Pietro’s mouth fell open. “Dear Merlin. That mental image is going to haunt me for the rest of my days.”

“When will you guys stop picking on my food-” growled Bucky to no effect. It was a failed attempt at menacing and they knew he knew it.

“Is it the flavor, do you think?” Clint said idly, slanting that stupid smirk his way. “Do they know something over at the MRE factory that trained chefs don’t?”

“I dearly hope not,” Wanda grimaced. “That would mean my entire blog is a lie and that Mother was right about going into Mediwizardry.”

Pietro threw a supportive arm around his sister’s shoulders. “Your blog is fantastic, sis. James probably just…has no tastebuds left. He’s probably had a thousand MREs by now, that sort of diet has got to have some serious consequences.”

“I am _right here_ -”

“James’ ready-to-eat meals!” Thor announced jovially, finally putting down his Starkphone. His new girlfriend Jane was currently in Australia studying star patterns and it was obvious that he missed her terribly. Still, Thor beamed brightly at them all as he launched into his praise. “James was kind enough to let me taste this unusual delicacy. I have to say, it was true warriors’ food, and the presentation was magical!”

“Thor, you can’t tell me that after seven years in Durmstrang, you think something like a water-activated cardboard meal is the pinnacle of wizardry?”

“It is further proof that our non-magical brethren have managed to create their own spells!” Thor protested. “To add water that is not even hot into a paper bag, to watch it boil, to watch it bring to life pudding and rice and vegetables and steak! Is this not wonderful magic? And it was completely edible!”

Clint raised his eyebrow. “As someone who makes their living off good quality meat, I take great offense to that statement.”

“That’s ‘coz you’re a meat snob.” Bucky muttered.

“ _David_ is a real estate agent,” Nat interrupted, effortlessly bringing the conversation back to marginally safer ground. “And Sandra from the clinic says he’s deathly allergic to soy and dairy, so please consider that when you choose a restaurant, instead of sidestepping dating etiquette and cracking open a boxed meal that you brought back from the jungle. It’ll increase your chances of getting laid by one hundred percent.”

“Hey, it wasn’t a _date_ with Thor, we were just hanging out here-” Bucky saw Thor cringe out of the corner of his eye and felt his stomach drop down to his knees. “No way. That was a date? Are you _kidding_ me? We built walls together, man!”

“Natasha said we might make a good match, and my father and I had just had our falling-out.” Thor said sheepishly, ducking his giant blond head into his shoulders when Bucky scowled at him. “We had a very nice time, and I greatly enjoyed your company and the meal. I knew we would become great friends eventually. At no time during the evening did I think of initiating sexual intercourse.”

“Translation: your ready-meals are boner-killers.”

Bucky buried his face in his hands defeatedly as the table erupted into laughter.

Eventually, they moved on from their well-trounced prey. Thor was ribbed about not letting his phone out of his sight for more than a minute, Nat’s new doll designs were discussed and exclaimed over, and everyone fought over the _kolaczkis_ that Wanda brought over from the new Sokovian bakery. As the last of the empty dishes disappeared from the table and all the furniture was put back in readiness for tomorrow’s opening, Bucky felt both exasperated and comforted. He loved his friends, unnecessarily harsh about his dietary habits though they were, but he loved them all the same. It was a never-ending source of comfort to know that there was absolutely nothing he could do to make them stop coming around, because Merlin knew he’d tried his worst in the beginning. And yes, they tried setting him up with _anyone_ who looked like they wouldn’t be intimidated by five feet eleven inches of sullen awkwardness, which mostly meant a very shallow pool of men who actually used their gym memberships. It wasn’t even as if he didn’t understand their point-of-view; Nat, in particular, had seen him at his lowest and had made him promise to reach out if he ever needed help.

Being in a romantic relationship though… Magically dormant or not, Bucky doubted he was ready for that sort of commitment.

 _This is enough,_ he thought as he walked home under a starlit sky, the ghostly hum of the city’s magic caressing his senses. _I don’t need anything more than this._

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

…

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.


End file.
